


Seasons of Us

by SpecialAgentFiction



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Iowa, Maybe more - Freeform, Reader-Insert, first star trek fanfic, from my tumblr, pre-Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpecialAgentFiction/pseuds/SpecialAgentFiction
Summary: A snapshot of life in Iowa through the seasons.Jim Kirk/Reader Insert





	Seasons of Us

It was Summer when you first met him, not that you remember it but you’ve seen the shaky home-made video document your introduction more times than you can count complete with the obligatory commentary from your father as he recalled each detail of the moment he himself had shot.

Jim was a chubby five-months-old baby and you always loved to point that out to him, especially once he’d started to fill out his clothes in a way only teenage boys do when puberty hits them like a freight train. The video was filled with your cries from the moment it started and you always cringed at the sound; at the sight of your mother failing to shush you and the weariness in her body that was suddenly rejuvenated as Jim was placed beside you in your cot.

The juxtaposition of him and you; the growing baby versus the tiny newborn, always brought a smile to your lips, especially as the scene had never really changed through the years; you’d only been the same height for about five minutes and then he’d shot up enough so that your head rested atop his shoulder perfectly.

Every summer after was the same as the first; you were always at each other’s sides whether it be laying across the couch with the last remnants of the school years homework spread among you with your feet on his lap and his at your side or on the porch swing with a book in your hand and a PADD in his with details on whatever his latest project was.

You were always settled when you were at each other’s sides; always calm and always able to figure anything out. Your father always laughed, your mother always smiled and Jim simply shuffled closer to show you a rough outline of a plan for a motorbike modification or even a piece of the vehicle that he’d been tinkering with.

Summer was a time of relaxation; the only work done was stuff that you wanted to do – school work was gone and now you were feeding your voracious appetites for knowledge. They always said you’d both go far…as long as you spent more time relaxing than running off to whatever adventure the small town of Riverside held to two imaginative and sometimes rebellious youngsters.

* * *

Autumn holds your first actual memory of him. It’s as hazy as a 22nd century holo-cast and just as fragmented, but you love it because it’s yours and not a story relaid to you by a parent or a snippet of a home-movie that despite the third person viewpoint you sometimes believed was a memory.

He was grinning as your parents took you both out into the strip of land that separated your garden from the worked fields and you could remember grinning back as the excitement of whatever adventure your parents had planned began to grow unbearable. You remember the shovel in your father’s hand and the picnic basket in your mothers as you all approached the scattering of skinny trees huddled together.

You’d each dug a hole; all four of you having a go with the shovel (you and Jim with only a little help from the grown-ups) and had proudly deposited a brand-new apple tree in each with a whisper of luck in the early Autumn sun.

Lunch had concluded with the obvious dessert and when your mother had opened her palm to reveal two small almost black seeds; the plumpest of the apples she’d baked this morning, you’d both squealed with delight and dragged your father back to the abandoned shovel to dig two more, smaller holes. No one had expected those to grow into the biggest on the lot.

Yes, Autumn in Iowa was beautiful, especially at your family’s farmhouse; the secluded location was perfect for growing crops on a semi-large scale which allowed for your father’s strange desire to own and drive a tractor to come to fruition.

Autumn to you is a slightly burnt pie crust crisply sliced through and served oven warm by your mother, it’s the slight sheen of sweat on Jim’s brow as he tinkered under the farm machinery after a tough harvest a few weeks earlier, it’s the last handfuls of apples from the few trees you’d planted all those years ago.

But autumn also meant school and an end to your carefree days of running through wheat fields and playing in the garden. Autumn meant that Jim spent more time at home and was always a little gloomier when you saw him. Autumn brought tiredness to your parent’s eyes as year after year you got into trouble with your best friend in an attempt to make him smile.

As you grew older, Autumn meant a poor attempt at making cider at the back of the machinery barn and laughter as you attended the school Halloween dances in ever-more inappropriate costumes.

Eventually, Autumn was just another season to you once Jim pretty much moved in. No more time spent away from the only loving home he knew meant less trouble and better grades and finally you were growing into the people your parents knew you both could be.

* * *

Winter is cold. No matter where you are in the universe, winter is always cold.

Iowa was understandably freezing with its snowfalls and useless heating in schoolrooms. Your refuge in Iowa’s winters was always your living room with its roaring fireplace and a gradually decorated Christmas tree as the months rolled by.

Winter was full of steaming turkeys and pointless paper hats before stockings decorated the fireplace and boxes of ornaments littered the place.

You could still see the look on Jim’s face as he was presented with his very own stocking for the mantle; it was red with white polka-dots on it and a carefully sewn ‘Jim’ adorned the opening. He’d blinked away tears quickly but you knew that Christmas in his house was never quite as fancy as your own so this little thing meant a lot to him.

It had hung there for years as a silent acknowledgment of his place in your family without him actually being present for the day itself and then one year it had been much more than that. The year Jim spent Christmas with you was a wonderful one. He’d been living in the farmhouse semi-permanently for a month or two before the Christmas boxes had been lugged down from the attic and twelve-year-old you had happily exclaimed that they could finally pull crackers properly at the table without needing to do a crossed arms manoeuvre between three people. The look on his face had been one of realisation as it dawned that he wasn’t going to be forced back to his stepfather’s table for major holidays and that he would finally get to stay here; at home with his true family.

Your mother had heaved a sigh of relief at not having to drive all of Jim’s presents over to that dreary house Winona abandoned her son to and immediately started planning how much more she needed to save from her and your father’s wages to make this the best Christmas yet, as well as how much more could actually fit under the tree.

You got a bigger tree.

Winter was snowball fights and hot cocoa, ice-skating on a frozen pond and singing carols. Winter was your father’s disapproving glare at the tightness of your jumper as you dashed off to meet some boy at a party before it melts into one of pride at the sight of Jim wearing a matching frown.

Winter was huddling under blankets to watch 20th century movies of bad quality and even worse acting and huffing at the wheel of a broken down pick-up truck as Jim called out for you to ‘give it another go’ as the windscreen iced over and your fingers turned blue. Winter was the thread-bare blanket in the back of your father’s car as he towed you both home.

* * *

Spring is the ‘all-hands-on-deck’ season with your parents taking on a few extra pairs of hands for the bulk of planting: it’s long warm days ending only when you take your boots off and seeds fall out. Spring is the return of bug bites on the hottest days and unexpected winter-like downpours that force you inside.

Iowa was a hive of activity in Spring and sometimes you felt like you were the only one standing still; watching as everyone else got things done. For your mother, spring was a return to long working days as she packed lunch for her and your father before they parted and headed to the jobs that supplemented farm-life. For Jim, Spring meant that girls would be back in shorts and he was always up for that. But for you, Spring was a reminder of approaching deadlines and a looming future that seemed to take you further and further away from your home with every glance at a pamphlet or advert on a PADD.

Spring is dusky pink skies and the pile of Starfleet information flyers hidden under your mattress.

The future never seemed to bother Jim much and you wished you could say the same. While he was happy to continue tinkering and planting and keeping your mother laughing as he stole food from the kitchen, you longed for more than this place could offer. Iowa would always be your home; the place you grew up and became _you_ , but you often wondered if home was more than this; if it could be the place you come back to after a lifetime of adventure?

_You’ve got to have roots before branches_. That’s what the poster in homeroom said but what about having both? Could your roots give you the sustenance you need to branch out further and further?

Spring is picnics and reading in the park with your friends. Spring is long drives along dirt roads as the weather heats up: it’s Jim’s soft tapping against the steering wheel as you dangle your hand out the window and the low but ever-present hum of the radio. Spring is hiding empty beer bottles and creeping in late from all-night parties. Spring is arguing with Jim as he takes longer and longer in the bathroom and your growing panic over what everyone would say if they found your Starfleet information PADD’s.

Spring is walking with your hands in your pockets as you try to find a way to explain the thick envelope containing your Early Admission documents to Jim. Spring is long grasses as the season seeps into Summer and lazy days as your books are neglected.

Spring is Jim and trying to savour every moment. Spring is the daisy crown presented to you and your silent promise that next year you’ll tell him everything as you decline the chance of a lifetime in favour of four more seasons of memories.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I fancy having a go at a second part for this. Let me know what you think x


End file.
